


good behavior

by buckgaybarnes



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: (in a sense), Hypothetical Rough Sex, Lab Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Praise Kink, Sexual Fantasy, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 16:39:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19479862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckgaybarnes/pseuds/buckgaybarnes
Summary: “I said,” Hermann continues, calmly, “are you finished with your tantrum?”(or: newt is a brat, hermann is intimidating, and newt is very, very into it)





	good behavior

**Author's Note:**

> what better way to celebrate july 4 :) posted on horny twitter via google doc this afternoon!

It happens in a spiral. All of Newt’s bad ideas happen in a spiral. One minute, you know, he’s pissed off about something so inconsequential he’d probably have forgotten about it in twenty if he wasn’t him, the next he’s worked himself up into one of his Fits and clattering around the lab, banging things against other things (the hard toe of his boot and the biohazard bin, his tools down and his dissection bench, a dried-up pen and the wall) and shouting about anything that crosses his mind. Their lack of funding. His lack of fresh samples to work with. How he’s expected to do any fucking _work_ without either of those things. About _Hermann_ , who never takes Newt seriously, who never listens to Newt, who ridicules Newt constantly, who’s not even paying attention to Newt _now_ , just filling out his end-of-the-month report in his neat little cursive handwriting with his dumb little glasses pushed up his nose and ignoring Newt completely. 

This is when Newt makes a very big mistake. Half-blind with rage, with the need to be seen and heard by _someone_ , he storms over and slams his hands palms-down on Hermann’s desk, hard enough to rattle Hermann’s pencil cup and upend the dregs of his morning mug of tea, and shouts “Fucking _look_ at me already!”

Hermann does not even flinch.

He doesn’t speak, either. Cold milky-black tea seeps across the polished wood, Hermann dots a single _i,_ and Newt’s breath catches in his throat in mild horror. He didn’t mean to do that. Shouting at Hermann is one thing, but this is another altogether. There’s an apology on the tip of his tongue that sours immediately when Hermann—eyes still fixed on his report—says, “Are you quite finished with your tantrum?”

Newt’s rage boils back over. He smacks his palms down again; Hermann’s pencil cup tips over entirely this time, contents falling casualty to the tea puddle. “ _No_!” he shrieks. “No, I’m not _finished_! Jesus, you’re such a fucking dick. I’m _not_ throwing a tantrum. I’m not a _baby_. Can’t you even go five fucking minutes without belittling—!”

Hermann’s right hand darts out, quick as lightning, fingers curling around Newt’s skinny tie and holding him in place. Newt’s breath catches for an entirely different reason. “I said,” Hermann continues, calmly, “are you finished with your tantrum?”

He dots another _i_ , and moves on to the next section of his report. Newt gapes at him wordlessly. He couldn't move if he wanted to.

Hermann’s grip tightens. He pulls Newt down until their foreheads are a centimeter apart. “I’m very busy today, as you know, Newton,” he says, “and I do not appreciate your behaving as a brattish, spoiled child. Are you?”

“Guh,” Newt squeaks.

Hermann winds Newt’s tie twice around his fist and draws him closer still. “Are you a brattish, spoiled child, Newton?”

“No,” Newt squeaks again. Hermann’s breath is hot across his cheeks, smelling faintly of the tea and a cigarette he lied about not having, and Newt can see himself—wide-eyed, stunned, flushing deep red—reflected in the little round lenses of Hermann’s glasses. The fabric of Newt’s tie is beginning to cut into his skin, not enough to hurt, but just enough to be uncomfortable even through his collar.

“Will you behave yourself for the rest of the day?” Hermann says.

Newt nods; when Hermann emits a low, displeased hum, he quickly chokes out “Yes! Yes. I will. I’ll behave.”

“Good boy,” Hermann says, still so completely fucking serene, and lets go of Newt’s tie. He rights both pencil cup and mug while Newt sways back and forth in a daze. When he’s finished, his eyes finally flick up to Newt for a moment, disinterested, over the frames of his glasses. “You have a report to finish as well, if I recall.”

“Uh-huh,” Newt says.

One minute Newt’s pacing the lab, and throwing things, and shouting, and the next, he’s got a faint red mark around his throat and a raging boner and the knowledge that Hermann Gottlieb can be _intimidating_ and holy shit, is it sexy, and holy shit, is Newt into it. Newt’s very into it. Newt’s—well. He makes a show of stowing a few useless samples in his specimen fridge for an excuse to be in the corner of the lab that houses the decontamination shower, and—when he’s sure Hermann’s turned away and otherwise preoccupied with his chalkboard—ducks inside the shower and slips the opaque curtain shut.

One minute Newt’s pacing the lab, and the next, he’s got his back to freezing tile and one fist down his jeans and around his dick and the other stuffed into his mouth.

He’s not proud of it. Ideally, he would’ve run off to the bathroom or his bunk or something and taken care of it there in relative privacy, or sat at his desk and pictured absolutely not-horny thoughts for ten minutes until, you know, he cooled off, but this is entirely unexplored territory when it comes to standard Hermann Gottlieb behavior and Newt, frankly, is too impatient to not start touching himself immediately. (Besides: there's something exciting in the fact that Hermann is sitting only a few feet away.) Hermann is mean, and he’s bitchy, but rarely intimidating with his oversized glasses and omnipresent slouch and ill-fitting grandpa clothing. Hermann is not aggressive. Hermann does not touch Newt, let alone manhandle him until Newt’s shaking in his boots and horny beyond comprehension. Hermann doesn’t order him around like that, either—like he just _expects_ Newt, unquestionably, to listen to him and obey him.

Newt did though, didn’t he? He did listen to Hermann, unquestionably; he did obey Hermann, unquestionably. He shut his mouth and ran off to do his work. Like a good boy.

Good boy, Hermann called him.

Newt works his dick a little faster and whines around the fingers he jammed into his mouth.

Hermann would probably hoist Newt around by his tie if (by some miracle) they were having sex, too. He’d made Newt leave it on just so he could. Or maybe he’d do it by the collar of Newt’s shirt, or by his hair. Drag Newt right down to his knees on the dirty floor, right up to the front of his ugly slacks, and Newt would press his lips to the zipper and beg for Hermann to use his mouth any way he wants, use _him_ any way he wants, and Hermann would stuff his dick down Newt’s throat and tell Newt to suck his cock like a good boy and backhand him if he did it wrong.

(Hermann would never say _cock_ aloud, though—Newt’s never even heard him curse. He’d never hurt Newt, either, not even if Newt _asked_ him to, Newt’s sure of that. He didn’t even hurt Newt with the tie. Hermann’s mean, and Hermann is—apparently—intimidating when he wants to be, but he’s not—)

The curtain’s wrenched open; Hermann is cocking an eyebrow at him in mild surprise.

Newt’s hand flies from his boxers like he’s been shocked. “Shit,” he stammers, face already burning in mortification, “shit, dude, I’m sorry, shit, I’ll—” He tries to duck around Hermann, out of the lab, maybe out of the Shatterdome, hand in his resignation to Marshal Pentecost and quit biology and take up beekeeping and never ever have to look Hermann in the eyes ever again, or something along those lines that's completely rational, but Hermann’s cane shoots out against the shower wall and boxes Newt in before Newt can even take a step forward.

Newt sags back against the tiling.

Then—cane dropping back to the ground— _Hermann_ takes a step forward.

“You’re terribly unsubtle,” he says. “I could hear you all the way from my desk. What were you thinking of?”

“Nothing,” Newt says quickly.

Too quickly. Something seems to change in Hermann: he narrows his eyes and crowds Newt entirely against the shower wall, hand snagging the end of Newt’s tie. He gives it a sharp tug. Newt whimpers, knees going weak. “You,” he confesses, and infuriating _smugness_ flits, briefly, across Hermann’s previously stoic face, the bastard. “I was thinking—I like when you—do that.”

Hermann wraps the fabric around his fingers like he’d done at his desk, and, lip twitching up, tugs at it again. “When I do this?” he says.

Newt lets slip a moan, eyelids flickering shut of their own accord. His dick is so fucking hard it’s starting to hurt. “ _Nn_. Uh-huh.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath; his heart is pounding so fast that’s starting to hurt, too. “And—and telling me what to do.” He’s of sound enough mind to know giving specifics would be a terrifically awful idea. No way in hell could he recover from admitting to Hermann he wants to choke on his dick, because there’s no way in hell Hermann would ever let him hear the end of it. He’s already not going to let Newt hear the end of this—of finding him fucking his fist and drooling in the decontamination shower of all places two minutes after he sorta-chewed him out—as is, which is probably deserved. Still, he can’t help himself from adding “And calling me good.”

When Newt opens his eyes, Hermann’s pupils are dark and wide and any hint of smugness has slipped away entirely. His tongue darts out over his wide bottom lip. When he speaks, his voice is so rough and low that Newt has to strain to hear. “I want you to touch yourself, Newton.”

“ _What_?”

Hermann straightens his posture, until he’s almost towering over Newt. He gives Newt’s tie another sharp yank. “Touch yourself,” he orders.

“Holy shit,” Newt squeaks, and eyes bulging, head spinning (from Hermann’s proximity, Hermann’s tea-and-cigarette breath, Hermann’s commanding voice), white-hot arousal shooting down to the pit of his stomach, thrusts his hand into his boxers and works himself furiously.

There are pinpricks of sweat beginning to dot Hermann’s brow. “Very good, Newton,” he breathes, and sweeps his eyes over Newt’s body, from his gaping mouth, to where Newt’s little black skinny tie is wound around his own hand, to the flushed and leaking head of Newt’s dick just poking out from his waistband and fingers. He looks like he wants to eat Newt alive. “A little faster.”

“Uh-huh,” Newt moans. He obeys, grunting with the effort and bracing himself against the metal shower bar when his knees threaten to give out entirely, and Hermann only fists his tie tighter. His eyes have drifted back down to the bit of Newt’s dick that pokes out. He gives another little yank, and Newt feels the end of Hermann’s cane prod insistently at his leg.

“Show me—”

Newt rips his jeans and boxers down to his thighs before Hermann can even get the rest of the order from his mouth and presents himself on full display, flushed dick and slickened fingers and obscene wet noises and tears stinging the corners of his eyes. His breath has started to come out in high-pitched _ha’_ s. Hermann nods shakily in approval. The only hint of cracks in his cool facade. “If I’d known this was all it took to keep you in line,” he says, with no small amount of forced calm, and wets his lower lip again, “I’d have done it years ago.” Another yank. The back of Newt’s head smacks the wall, almost painfully, and his dick gives a sharp jerk in his fist. “Would you do whatever I asked, Newton?”

“Yes,” Newt whimpers. (He wants Hermann to use him any way he wants—order Newt to please him, bend Newt over a desk, force him down to his knees, shove his dick into Newt until Newt is teary-eyed and shouting incoherently and then tell touch and kiss Newt gently and tell him he’s been good, so very good for him, he's behaved so well.) “Yes, yes—”

Hermann drops his tie, and Newt has only a second to whine in distress before Hermann’s long fingers are gripping the curve of his jaw and forcing his chin up to lock eyes. Newt peers at him through his lashes; he’s aware, vaguely, that his tongue is hanging out, and that there is a trickle of drool leading from the corner of his mouth. 

Then Hermann caresses his cheek. “Good boy,” he says, with a smile that’s almost kind.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Newt says, and jizzes all over his hand.

Hermann lingers long enough for Newt to catch his breath. He shuts the curtain behind him as he clacks out.

**Author's Note:**

> immediately after this hermann bolts out of the lab in utter mortification and also to jerk off
> 
> find me on twitter at hermanngaylieb, nsfw 18+ twitter at hermanngayszler, and tumblr at hermannsthumb!


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